


My Love, The Astronaut

by birdsandivory



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mild Blood, Past Adashi - Freeform, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Matt, Platonic Kidge, Shatt, Sick Shiro (Voltron), Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, and it won't just be in the background, everything will be okay, expect smut eventually, klance, slooooow buuuurn, there's fluff don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory
Summary: Over the years, Matt has always believed that Shiro is his cure, even when he waters the flowers in his lungs and cultivates them until he is so full with their beauty that he can no longer breathe.





	1. X/Ten

**Author's Note:**

> You ever just sink into this state of being where everything you're mooding needs to be reflected somewhere, so you take it out on fictional characters you're supposed to love?
> 
> Same.
> 
> I have never gotten a chance to write Hanahaki, so I am so excited for it, and I'm SO glad that it gets to be a Shiro/Matt piece. Please, feel free to scream with me OR at me, okay? Either is perfectly acceptable.

_"This is the correlation between salvation and love,_

_Don't drop your arms,_

_I'll guard your heart,_

_With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark."_

_\- The Unwinding Cable Car, Anberlin_

 

* * *

 

He’s ten when he first meets Shiro.

Calm, cool, smart, _sweet_ Shiro.

And it’s the first time his heart has ever hurt, too.

The boy’s older, just a three-year cut above him, but it’s enough to make the young Holt feel like he’s face to face with an idol. And he’s scared, at first, clinging to his father’s side as Samuel affectionately pats his head. He’s speaking to Reo Shirogane, an old colleague and friend from the Galaxy Garrison, because they decided it would be nice if their boys hit it off as they once did — at least, that’s what the man had told him the night before when he was carefully mixing his peas into his mashed potatoes at dinner.

It’s a slow start, but Shiro’s incredibly polite and well-mannered, and Matt’s only a little embarrassed that his dad has to push him forward until he takes the outstretched hand he’s being offered.

His first thought is that the other has a warm, firm handshake, and Matt kind of likes the way Shiro smiles — so wide and toothy, his eyes can no longer be seen between the narrow slits of his lids.

It takes him a moment, but Matt returns the gesture with a grin of his own, and he’s all too thrilled when the boy agrees to come to his room and check out his space rock collection while their parents catch up.

“Your dad found this?” Shiro’s eyes are wide in fascination as he gazes at a jagged, black rock in Matt’s hand, its surface sparkling with countless emerald fascets reflecting rainbows from its exterior; it’s so saturated in color, it nearly glows.

The younger boy is undeniably filled with pride.

“Yep! He was out exploring a crater left by that meteor from like, twenty years ago! Isn’t that cool?” He holds it to his chest, admiring it as he would treasure. “It’s my favorite one.”

“It’s amazing!” Shiro laughs, moving to carefully run a curious fingertip across the rough article, his lips parted in a silent ‘oh’ before he breathes, “this came all the way from space.”

The wonder and awe that the older boy has makes Matt happy because, before that moment, he didn’t have many friends who thought of the world beyond the Earth like he does. In fact, he doesn’t have many friends in the first place. And since Katie’s only five and can’t really have a conversation past scary monsters in coloring books and Saturday morning cartoons, he’s convinced it’s the luckiest day of his life because — just _maybe —_ he’s finally found one.

He even tells Shiro his life dream in a whisper, cradling the rock in his hands.

“I want to go to space.”

Deep brown eyes light up and he can barely hold back a gasp when his new friend admits, “me, too.”

Matt believes he’s met the greatest person _ever._

They don’t see each other much over the course of the year, a couple of times a month at most, but Shiro’s the first thing he asks his father about whenever he so much as mentions the Galaxy Garrison or his friend — Mr. Shirogane. It’s probably the highlight of his day when Sam ruffles his hair and smiles knowingly from his spot on their family sofa, a book on his lap that Matt can’t help but nosely look at over his shoulder, and tells him that he’ll just have to wait for the weekend.

It’s all he usually thinks about until Saturday rolls around then, having been tipped off without immediate gratification.

When it does finally show up, he’s waiting patiently in his room for the ring of the doorbell to tell him Shiro’s there, quietly and carefully putting together a brand new solar system model his father bought for him a few days back — hoping he can have something neat to show his friend that will be different than the star map he pinned up onto his wall last time. And as he finishes, his dad’s calling him downstairs; he’s more excited than every single visit before when he sees the boy’s grinning face next to a tall man in the doorway.

And he swears that it’ll be like every other weekend they’d hung out, except this time, he doesn’t expect Shiro to tell him he’s his best friend.

But he’s _so_ glad it happens.

Their parents talk late into the night, as always, and he and Shiro are quietly reading a book on constellations atop his bed, nothing disrupting them except the occasional chatty exchange of comments over Orion or Andromeda and Matt’s wiggling because he can’t seem to sit still. He drinks in the moment along with the knowledge printed before them on paper, undeniably sad when he hears his mother’s voice calling for Shiro from down the hall, but glad that the other boy seems to feel the same way. He’s pouting and reluctant to leave.

Matt jumps off of his bed to open his door and yell a mildly upset protest back, embarrassed when he hears Shiro laugh, saying he’d _never_ be allowed to yell like that at his house.

It gains them ten more minutes, though, and that’s all that really matters.

Shiro surprises him by closing the book instead of letting them continue where they left off; he digs into the pocket of his black hoodie, pulling out a pair of small devices and looking down at them kindly. Matt wants to ask what they are as he pads back over to the side of the bed, but his friend beats him to the punch.

“Hold out your hand.”

“Okay,” he does as he’s told, always trusting of the other, and Shiro places one of them into his open palm. It’s a walkie talkie, he realizes, fiddling around with it. He twists a dial until nothing but radio static fills the room, gasping when he hears a voice through the speaker. “Shirogane to Holt, do you copy?”

Matt’s brows shoot up from behind his lenses before he gazes back at Shiro to see him talk into the mic and he bubbles with laughter, clicking the red button on the side of his own communicator. “Holt to Shirogane — that’s a Big 10-4!”

Shiro smiles something huge, hopping off of the bed and looking down at him before clipping his walkie to his pocket. “Now that we have these, we can talk every night to each other. It works over wifi, so even if we’re far away, it’ll be like I’m just in the next room.”

Matt’s eyes grow wide. “Really? You’re _giving_ this to me?”

“Yeah.” He watches as the taller of the two reaches up to rub the back of his neck, looking nervous. “You’re my best friend. I want to keep in touch.”

The aspiring scientist doesn’t really know why his chest hurts when he feels so happy, a pinch in his lungs he doesn’t quite understand, but Matt keeps it to himself.

Shiro has to go sooner rather than later, but they don’t stop talking through the walkies, even when they’re in the same room. And they don’t stop, still, even when the Shiroganes leave and get into their car in the driveway — Matt running into his room to wave at his best friend through the window as the vehicle rolls away, rattling off lingo into his mic until the signal dies.

They talk that night once the boy arrives home and Matt realizes with a smile on his face before he goes to sleep that Shiro’s given him a way to _never_ feel alone again.

It goes on every day after school without fail. They talk about everything and anything, whether it’s classes or what they plan to do the next time they hang out or space. It’s like checking in before sleep, unloading all of the good and bad things on their minds when they can’t speak to anyone else about it. Matt’s family is a household of _‘sit down and talkers,’_ but it’s nice to have someone on the outside. And, for some reason, it feels like it’s just them against the _world._

Matt doesn’t imagine there will ever be a night he won’t be with Shiro, even if they’re too far away to see each other often.

But he realizes that imagining something doesn’t mean it will be true.

And one night, he doesn’t hear from Shiro at all.

He comes home from school to great news; they’re moving, which is hard to hear at first, because Matt really loves his house and has known nothing else. But his dad remedies his doubts, letting him know that they’ll not only be closer to the Galaxy Garrison where he works, but closer to the Shirogane residence — and he’ll be able to visit Shiro more, if he’s given permission. And that, likewise, the older boy will be able to come and see him, too.

Matt is quick to change his tune and it’s all he wants to talk about the second he’s in his room, grabbing his walkie talkie from beneath his pillow.

“Hey, Shiro! I gotta tell you about something awesome today! Are you there?”

He waits for a few moments, knowing that sometimes Shiro’s busy, or in another room, and after calling into the microphone again. He leaves it alone until he finishes up with dinner and reads to Katie, crawling into his bed with hair slightly damp from the shower. It’s odd that it’s just past seven o’ clock and Shiro hasn’t rung in yet, because the other never misses a chance, but he doesn’t despair.

Smiling to himself about the future move, he holds the communicator in his hands.

“Holt to Shirogane! I gotta tell you something — it’s _cool…_ so, do you copy?”

Hearing nothing but the buzz of their connection, he waits patiently, but worry settles into his gut and his heart pounds just a little faster as time ticks by.

Shiro never… _not_ answers.

Pressing the walkie to his lips, he tries to hold back a hard swallow, but a frown slips through the cracks.

“ _Shiro?_ ”

He ends up going to bed without speaking to him that night, though it takes forever for Matt to actually get to sleep.

Matt wakes up the next day without much of a thought and goes to school in high spirits, the distraction of learning keeping his mind off of Shiro, the hustle and bustle of so many bodies in one place stealing all of his attentions. The unease he felt before is renewed as soon as the last bell rings, however, and when he’s picked up from school — he’s afraid that the one person he wants to be on the other end of his walkie won’t be.

It’s harder than yesterday when that fear is proven true.

And it hurts in the days following; Matt speaks into the microphone of the first gift Shiro’s ever given him besides his friendship for nearly five days without an answer back, telling him about the good and the bad, of school and space and everything in between. He thinks that, maybe if he keeps trying, the other will eventually respond.

Matt, for a second, wonders if Shiro _hates_ him now.

But he doesn’t want to think about that.

By the end of the week, he can’t take it anymore and asks his father if he can talk to Shiro’s dad and ask if he’s okay. Sam smiles as he tells him about the situation, a little off-put, but he easily agrees.

It isn’t until the next day that he finds out his best friend’s mother passed away from an illness.

Shiro’s mom was someone he never spoke about except on one or two occasions, and even then, his mentions of her were there and gone — just a minor detail in the background. Matt’s dad is careful to discuss with him the reason why and he soaks up every word with pinched brows and a small frown.

“Mrs. Shirogane was always a sickly woman and struggled to manage her declining health for years, Matthew. It just… caught up to her,” he says, lips upturned and yet, he looks the saddest Matt’s ever seen. His mother seems even more upset, so he doesn’t bother her when she starts frantically cleaning the kitchen in tears, and doesn’t really ask for anything more than she decides to do herself. He’s always understood the concept of death, even as young as he is, but it feels different happening in front of him and he contemplates how Shiro must be dealing with it.

The days seem to fly by after that.

He still doesn’t hear from his best friend, but he _does_ feel better now that he knows it isn’t _him,_ and when his mother steps into his room that Saturday morning to let him know that they will all be attending the funeral sans Katie that night, he hopes that he can talk to Shiro and tell him that he’s sorry.

Colleen dresses him in a stuffy suit that pulls at his shoulders and makes him feel hot, but she constantly reminds him that it’s what people wear to honor those that are no longer with them, so Matt tries not to complain when it makes him itch and sweat a little more than he wants to. He doesn’t even protest the shoes, but in the back of his head, he’s whining about how wide and clunky they feel.

He’s all too nervous about seeing Shiro after not hearing his voice for so long, but he wants more than anything to be there with him, so when his parents call his name because they’re ready to leave — he races downstairs after them with the speed of a soaring comet.

But not without grabbing his space rock first.

The chairs are full when they get to the memorial, but the chapel is silent, the service having yet to be held. Matt is immediately drawn to Shiro standing beside his father in the doorway and he almost makes a run for him, but the way the other boy averts his gaze when he spots him and moves to hide behind his father stops the urge; he lets his mother pull him away to their reserved seats, lips pressed hard into a thin line once he’s climbed onto the chair.

He’s filled with the same worry from the first night the boy failed to answer him, and how far away Shiro feels is all he can think about, even when his mom begins to cry next to him — his dad taking her hand and patting it gently.

And when the boy sits beside him with his father taking his left, stone-faced and looking anywhere _but_ Matt, he feels even farther.

It isn’t until service begins and he sees his friend’s emotionless facade break and fall away like colored Jenga blocks that he’s relieved, the tears that are shed and the shaking sobs of his frame something Matt thinks he can fix. With that young and uncultivated thought, he reaches over like his dad did for his mom and takes the boy’s hand in his own.

The moment they touch, Matt cries for Shiro, too.

He’s not happy that his friend is sad — it’s the worst feeling in the world to him — but he thinks that, after there’s no more water to cry and the only thing to worry about are a few stray hiccups, everything will be okay.

The funeral is over sooner rather than later, but Matt feels like it’s been forever, changing his mind when Shiro stands up and pulls away — because maybe it hadn’t been long enough. He leaves the room like he doesn’t want to be followed, so the young Holt stays where he is and runs after him with big, tawny eyes instead. There’s a comforting hand on his shoulder then, and when he looks up, he sees Mr. Shirogane staring down at him with a watery smile and he knows it’ll be alright.

He doesn’t see Shiro again, even when it’s time to go, but he holds out his hand to the boy’s father — glittering rock digging jagged into his skin. And the older man takes it, promising that it will make it to his best friend safely.

Matt spends the evening with Katie when they arrive home. They watch an animated documentary about the world’s first astronauts, and he isn’t even mad when she falls asleep curled up at his side before they get to the good parts — he just finishes it and waits until his mother comes to pick up her sleeping form to head up to his room himself. He wastes the rest of the night lying in bed and staring up at the moving solar system projecting onto his walls from his DIY cutout nightlight, the walkie talkie in his hand leaving an imprint on the insides of his fingers.

He doesn’t use it, shoving it under his pillow once he’s tired enough to actually sleep.

The next day he slumbers late into the morning, but he’s woken by the sound of radio static and a voice he swears he hasn’t heard in ages.

_“Shirogane to Holt!”_

His eyes blink open in an instant.

Hands scramble for the walkie before they grab for his glasses, shoved onto his face so haphazardly that he doesn’t bother to keep the pads of his fingers from smudging the lenses and he doesn’t even try to buff them out with his shirt, too eager to listen for any sound from the speaker — believing he hadn’t heard anything at all. Matt stares at the communicator, remembering to breathe once or twice because forgetting he needs air is secondary to a few words catching over the line.

He swallows thickly, the minutes passing without another call.

And then—

_“Matt?”_

A freckled thumb punches down on the walkie talkie before he can blink, his voice a high-pitched trill. “Shiro?”

Every little thing he’s been worried about for weeks melts away with the sound of his best friend’s laughter, and he tries to hold back the lump in his throat that tells him he needs to have a cry.

 _“Look out your window,”_ he’s told, and Matt’s full of excitement if it means what he thinks it does, hopping out of bed and running over to the sill he keeps all of his succulents on, stepping onto a pile of books as he unhooks the latch and pushes the casements open — eyes gazing down below just as a car rounds the corner.

Shiro’s looking up at him under the mid-morning sun, the hand holding his walkie shielding his eyes from its rays, the other glistening and glittering with a splendor he easily recognizes.

It’s his space rock.

When he’s finally made it downstairs, his mom has already let the boy in, showering him with kind words and offering him a drink. He doesn’t take it, instead heading straight toward Matt and they speak silently, awkwardly — not quite knowing what to say. It’s easier just to head up to his room and pick up where they left off, Shiro telling him all the things he’d failed to say before — carefully excluding his mother — and Matt shows him all of the constellation puzzles he finished off in the other’s absence.

He gets around to telling Shiro that they’re going to be moving soon, that they’ll be even closer than before, and nothing prepares him for the barrage of things the other starts saying they can do in the future once he does - walking over to one another’s houses, visiting the Garrison’s public museum, visits every other day instead of once in a while. His shoulders drop a little when he admits that he already knew because his father told him after Mr. Holt called sometime the week before, and that he’d even heard all of the things Matt said to him over the walkie talkie, unable to answer back.

Matt cheers him up by promising that it’s fine, all big grins and laughter, and to him — it’s confirmation that their friendship was never in danger.

There’s still so much he wants to say, because he didn’t get to tell Shiro that he’s sorry about his mom or that he was afraid of being hated, but he doesn’t know when to.

He wants to tell Shiro that he missed him, that it _hurt,_ but he doesn’t know how to.

And by the time he figures it out, Mr. Shirogane is already at the door.

The evening comes so fast that he can barely catch up, but he doesn’t feel like he’s losing his friend — not anymore. So when it’s time to say their goodbyes, Matt’s okay with it for the most part; he doesn’t want to separate so soon, but _‘there’s always tomorrow,’_ his mom reminds them. They both are a little pouty about it, but he takes the time to walk Shiro to his car anyway, knowing she’s right.

“Hey, Matt?” As soon as they’re out of the door, brown eyes skirt over to him as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the rock the younger boy was so proud to show him the first day they’d met. He holds it out, and it’s been so long since Matt’s gotten to look at it just because he wants to that his fingers twitch, but he refuses to take it.

“Keep it.”

“Really?” Shiro’s face lights up. “Are you sure? This is your favorite thing!”

“That’s why I want you to have it!” Matt moves to push the other’s hand away and the rock along with it, a firm look on his face that he hopes says that there’s no room for ‘no.’ He’s stared at for a long time, a gaze as expressionless as the one the boy wore at the funeral watching him quietly and carefully.

It doesn’t last long, thankfully, and when Matt looks at him — _really looks at him —_ he’s in awe.

Shiro smiles for the first time in a long time, tears in the corners of his eyes unable to be blinked away, and Matt thinks from then on that he doesn’t ever want to see him sad again.

Climbing into bed that night, he’s surprised to feel the same ache he’s had since he’d met his best friend burning in his chest the second his head hits the pillow, and he doesn’t have time to wonder why as he’s thrown into a fit of coughs — eyes stinging and throat full in a way that scares him. For a moment, he can barely breathe and he’s gasping and hiccuping and retching and praying for oxygen until the obstruction in his throat falls into his hand; it takes him a few minutes to catch up on air, his lungs sore and his shoulders shaking, small fingers rubbing away tears so he can see the cause of his discomfort.

It’s a single, pink flower petal and he doesn’t understand what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosé - Admiration and Appreciation.


	2. XIII/Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not sure when it happened, but all of his thoughts revolving around Shiro became less about how cool it is to just be his friend and more about how much the other amazes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing this and I think it's because I'm really tired of depicting "getting the guy" and have moved onto The STRUGGLE, which is a lot more painful. And I do enjoy angst.
> 
> But, more than that, I think I'm having a really good time expressing myself? I get to work through my depression in this fic and that's a yes from me.
> 
> Also, I made a few edits to the first chapter - nothing big, just a few grammar errors I saw a little too late. I'm so sorry!

_"Exibit A:_

_We are friends in a sleeping bag,_

_Splitting the heat._

_We have one filthy pillow to share."_

_\- The Bed Song, Amanda Palmer_

 

* * *

 

When Matt is thirteen, he’s introduced to the concept of a crush.

He’s not sure when it happens, but all of his thoughts revolving around Shiro become less about how cool it is to just be his friend and more about how much the other amazes him every single passing day.

It doesn’t hurt that sixteen looks _very good_ in a Garrison uniform, either.

But… he’s trying not to think about that.

Shiro’s looking down at Matt with a smile, showing off his acceptance letter with pride, and the young Holt is all too ready to support his achievements. At the same time, he’s a little jealous he’s not in the other boy’s shoes. He has to remind himself that his friend’s a bit older, ahead in more ways than one and he’ll get there, too. It’s just going to take a some more work and a lot more time.

For now, he focuses on the way the cadet comes in close and watches Shiro watch _him_ as if he wants Matt to hang onto every printed word.

So, he does.

The letter is so crisp and he just knows it’s because Shiro couldn’t bear to bend it any more than the crease it came with in the mail. Freckled hands hold it carefully because, even if his best friend trusts him with everything, he doesn’t want to crinkle a single fiber.

They both stare at the print for so long that Matt almost forgets he can speak. He reaches up to press his glasses further along the bridge of his nose, grinning proudly.

“This is so cool, Shiro! I’ve been here a million times, but it must feel so different, having this letter… that uniform.” Matt means well; the uniform represents so much to himself and Shiro, like the future, a life of discovery and countless truths. It means traveling beyond home and into the stars, alone and together.

But he can’t stop thinking about how nice he looks in it and it only makes him feel guilty. He’s here for Shiro, after all, not something he can’t really put a name to yet that stirs in his chest like an oncoming cold.

“It’s a dream, Matt.” He pulls his eyes from the letter and to a far away expression, brown eyes gazing at the vast green courtyard of the Garrison, each concrete road leading to a different facility — every one home to a new skill and all equally important. “I’m so excited to start my assignments. Waiting for two weeks of settling in new students to pass is hard.”

Matt exhales with mirth, because it never fails to amaze him that — where he enjoys the hands-on experience of technology — Shiro is all about deeper understanding and knowledge.

And homework.

Shiro _loves_ homework.

Weirdo.

“I heard the workload is heavy, so I get it — I’d want to start ASAP, too.”

“Yeah.” The other goes through a myriad of emotions that Matt isn’t sure how to process within just a few seconds, but it settles on solemn and almost sad as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “I wish we could do this together.”

He does, too. There’s not much more that he wants besides exploration ( _or_ building cool robots, it’s a new hobby of his), and being able to experience his favorite thing with his favorite person is one of them. But, he knows it’s not that easy, especially with their gap in years. He’ll always be one step ahead of Matt.

“It’s your fault,” he puts that thought to rest, elbowing his best friend playfully, “you _had_ to be older.”

“Hey!” Shiro’s smile comes back and he laughs as Matt hands the letter back, and the older boy looks at it with an odd sort of affection. “I’ll wait until you get here for the _real_ discoveries.”

“You better!”

They talk for hours about the letter, about the Garrison and space, and every same subject that hasn’t gotten old since they met. Sam and Mister Shirogane stop by the table outside of the office they’ve meandered to in order to check on them, Matt’s dad a bright smile beside the seriousness that is Shiro’s father — and the young Holt decides that he admires them both in such different ways, fondly remembering how he used to think he wanted to be a strange combination of the two.

But really, he just wants to be more like Shiro.

Just the thought makes something flutter in his chest.

Shiro and his father part politely, always a quiet affair, and Sam always makes a point of pinching annoyingly at Matt’s cheeks — reveling in his embarrassed groans. He sets a gentle hand on his best friend’s shoulder, he’s taken to calling him ‘son,’ and he and Matt can both tell that the boy likes it more than he lets on.

When they finally leave the two alone, the cadet is the first to comment, looking after Sam like the man just bested a childhood superhero.

“I hope we go to space with your dad one day.”

“Why?” Matt pouts, “so he can embarrass me in front of the aliens?”

“He probably wants to give you back to them.”

“Hey!” Shiro has the audacity to laugh at him. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side!”

“You’re right.” The other shrugs, looking at him slyly from his peripherals, lips curling mischievously. “Even if you _do_ belong with a bunch of aliens, I don’t think I could let them take you away.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Matt feigns annoyance, but he’s seen through easily; irritable has never really been a believable part of his character. “I’m glad Pidge isn’t here, she’d take any chance she could to pick on me if you’re there to back her up, which you will.”

“She’s _eight,_ what are you worried about?” The cadet knows exactly what he’s talking about, though, Matt can tell by the amusement in his eyes. “And I can’t believe you’re actually calling her that. She doesn’t like it, you know.”

“It’ll grow on her.”

They settle into a comfortable silence after a moment, and he thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to ask Shiro about his classes, but the older boy beats him to the punch with another subject.

“Hey, since you’re here for a while, can I show you around?” He looks expectant, hopeful, and Matt’s happy to comply — nodding his head enthusiastically. “I wasn’t allowed to come here before I was enrolled, so I went exploring and found a lot of cool things to show you!”

The admittance surprises him, because Shiro’s dad works at the Garrison like his own, so he naturally suspected that his friend’s been there as much as he has. Knowing that it’s all brand new to the other just makes him want to give into those wishes all the more.

Matt adds a dash of wonder to his voice, smiling when Shiro perks up. “The _Grand Tour_ …”

“Yeah!”

“Okay,” he grins, “let’s go!”

Shiro pulls him along to every corner of the Garrison that visitors are allowed, pointing out and explaining the function of every mechanism they find, showing him the doors to all of his classes. Matt’s already seen it all, he’s been there a dozen times before, but the other’s so happy to drag him around that he allows himself to be given the walk around anyway.

And, somehow, between classrooms and giant telescopes — between campus cafes and research labs — he’s taken to a place that’s completely new.

“This is my favorite spot.”

Matt’s somehow surprised to be there, a secret paradise chalk full of tech both old and new at the far end of the research and study hall, parchments and ink and wires and monitors crawling across every corner — and yet, he feels like he shouldn’t be. Shiro’s always had a knack for finding the undiscovered in something he’s studied hundreds of times and it never ceases to frustrate him.

It never ceases to be incredible, either.

It’s like his eleventh birthday all over again, when his dad bought him a 5x5 rubiks cube and he’d solved it all by himself; it hadn’t been easy, but it only took a minute, give or take a second or two. Shiro had asked to try it himself, cracking the block code in thirty seconds flat, explaining his own quick thinking in response to an awed ocre gaze. He can’t remember all the details, but the one thing he recalls being told is: _“a hundred roads lead to the same destination.”_

Shiro sees things differently and Matt wonders if he will one day, too.

Matt's fingers spread the rolled corners of a hand-drawn map on the center table, eyes dancing along the frayed fibers, drinking every carefully dotted star building constellations across its surface. His lips part as he finds satisfaction in the makers’ precision, his words a shaken breath. “Look at these maps.”

“They draw the stars here.” Shiro says, even though countless books and articles say just as much. He takes the spot beside Matt, reaching a hand over him to smooth the page, and the younger boy finds the difference in the size of their hands next to each other fascinating. The cadet’s growth has gone unnoticed for so long that Matt’s forgotten they’re no longer the same.

He distracts himself by pointing to a group of stars he recognizes, so perfectly inked into the paper.

“Look at this one.” He speaks quietly and his voice echoes, carrying up into the tall ceiling, and he looks up at Shiro to see that he’s gotten his attention. “It’s you.”

“Perseus… The Champion?” Shiro seems contemplative, giving his friend a thoughtful hum. “He’s a fighter.”

Matt can’t think of anything smart to say, and he doesn’t want to tell him his reasons for believing it. “I uh… I always thought you were pretty strong.”

And he does, even if it’s not quite the whole truth.

Shiro’s physical strength — his height, the muscle mass he’s put on — that’s all very recent. He’s worked hard to become who he is, but the physical form is always changing, always a different image from one day to the next. And it’ll change tomorrow and the next day. Even if the whole universe is on his shoulders, his body isn’t what makes him strong no matter how much he can lift. But Matt likes to think that it’s the other’s desire to never give up, unwavering and true, that makes him a champion.

Shiro doesn’t say much more to that, only smiles in that bright way that he does, dragging a finger just past Matt’s — pointing to a far constellation, the largest of the connected bodies just under his fingertip. “I think you’re Ara, The Altar.”

Matt makes a face, looking between his friend and the map. Perseus, that’s a constellation of power, cool and shining across the sky. But Ara… it’s so plain and boring to him that he really doesn’t understand how Shiro would think it’s anything like him. “Why?”

The other pulls away, his expression more relaxed instead of sunny; Matt watches him bite his cheek. “...I’ll tell you when you get into the Garrison.”

“ _If_ I do,” he counters with humor.

“You will.” Shiro’s words are spoken with the utmost confidence and Matt feels warm.

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Just trust me.” Tawny eyes follow the cadet’s back as he crosses the room, picking up one of the books from the shelf and signing a clipboard atop a nearby desk. “There’s a better time.”

Matt doesn’t argue, he knows better than to, because Shiro always has a good reason for things — for waiting, for making others wait — so, for once, he doesn’t mind not challenging the other. It’s _his_ day, after all, and even if Ara leaves a certain discomfort in his stomach, he decides to brave it just this once, getting lost instead in this pivotal moment in his best friend’s life.

So, he follows the boy over to the desk and bookshelf he’s standing at, taking another perfect-bound off of a higher shelf, the tome of printed heavens weighing on his palms. Looking up at the other, the cadet bending to observe the title, Matt hums. “Check this one out, too.”

“Sure,” a scribble or two upon the clipboard and Shiro takes the book from his hands, looking to him curiously. “Want to see my room? We could go read these there.”

Matt grins. “Yeah.”

The walk to the dorm takes longer than necessary because they’re both goofing around, slipping and sliding through the hallways and past observation rooms and classes while they snort and laugh and hold their guts as if ‘Astrophysics 101’ just happens to be the funniest thing in the world to them.

It feels good, Matt thinks, to feel so free somewhere other than home. And when they reach the housing area, he understands that it feels that way because the _other than_ is now _Shiro’s_ home.

More often than not, they’d always spent time at the Holts’, in his room and his garage-turned-lab. Shiro’s home, well, they didn’t really talk about going there; more than that, they never _did._ And it wasn’t a question of Matt being allowed over, Mister Shirogane always assured him that he was welcome — but there was an undiscussed understanding between himself and Shiro that just always lead them both to his house.

But now, he’s where Shiro lives.

And that feels like home, too.

A hand fumbles through a uniform pocket and a keycard gets scanned to open one of the dorm room doors, Shiro leading Matt into what looks to be a small common room, two jackets slung over a small couch and various books piled on the table. There’s a desk to the far corner, clearly belonging to the cadet judging by how neat it is, everything perfectly placed and just enough room to set down a laptop and notebook cleared away.

He zeroes in on the walkie talkie sitting snug inside of an empty pencil cup and nothing else in the room seems to matter.

Matt lets himself explore with the intention of arriving at the table, the other close behind and seemingly amused, and he can only think that it’s because of his lack of subtlety. Despite the amount of knowledge he has jam-packed into his young and healthy brain, he has yet to become much more than a simple boy in need of simple pleasures, and just knowing that Shiro keeps him close is as great as the thrill of the other calling him his best friend for the first time ever.

He lets his fingers run along the planet-shaped post-its on the desk, distracting himself from the only thing he cares to use to contact Shiro with (even though they _both_ have cellphones now), to give the room another look. It’s decorated neatly with posters and calendars already marked up with highlighters that Matt thinks are a nice touch; it has the quality of several personalities, but still, he thinks it’s easy to pick out Shiro’s amongst the rest of them.

He’s too different — too special.

Something coils in his gut then, more than just excitement or jealousy, but it’s not a feeling he can put a name to.

“Do you like it?” Shiro’s looking at him with an infectious happiness and whatever ails him disappears the moment he stares back.

“This place is awesome,” he says honestly, his words a dreamy sigh.

“It’s a little further from you again, but this is where I’ll be.”

Matt gives the cadet a shrug when he moves to shift the books in his hands from one arm to another. “Think we’ll still be able to talk over our walkies?”

Shiro grins, looking to his own atop the desk, still a sleek, matte black in comparison to his own — covered in every planet and star sticker he could find. “I already nabbed the wi-fi code.”

Matt lights up like a protostar, not quite illuminated, but the fact that his best friend’s already thought of him makes him happy enough. “I want to hear about everything — all your assignments, what your scores are, how the food in the cafeteria is!”

“Matt!” The other laughs himself pink, reaching forward to grab the younger boy’s shoulder with a free hand. “You will, I promise.”

The tour comes to a complete end when Matt is lead through a door and into a smaller room, nothing but a bed and a few drawers inlaid into the walls for clothes fitting, but the walkway’s still big enough not to be a squeeze for either of them.

“My bunk’s here.”

It reminds him of all the days they spent in hiding places, maybe even a year or two back, creating secret coves where they had already existed. This would just be another one, another place that they can just be, undisturbed and together.

Shiro sits on his neatly made bed, setting the books they checked out beside him before he looks around, eyes settling somewhere off to the left and he can’t help but follow.

That’s when Matt notices it.

It’s so familiar, the obsidian darkness flashing color beneath artificial ceiling lights, sparkling atop an apparatus he’s never seen before — but something tells him it was made just for the stone sitting atop it. That same sensation with no name tears at the fibers of his skin and he realizes then how hard to breathe it’s become.

“You brought my space rock?” He reaches over to pick it up from its pedestal, tucking it close to his body, as if he could wrap around it and protect it at will.

“It seemed fitting.” Shiro says, none the wiser as he leans back, propping himself up with his hands as he looks at his keepsake fondly. “I think it’s good luck.”

With a deep, shuddering breath that captures the cadet’s attention, Matt’s hands thread together over the stone — the sudden lurch in his ribs needing a physical tether to keep him grounded. He stares into brown eyes that carry a strange sort of concern, but he brushes it off with a teasing laugh. “Really? A good luck charm?”

Shiro seems conflicted, as if he’s not sure if he should play along or ask him if he needs to sit down and drink a glass of water. Thankfully, he just gives Matt a shy shrug, expression reassuring. “Well, yeah. Every time I feel bad or I’m worried about something, I pick it up and carry it with me — makes me feel better.”

The words are so like Shiro, and he’s sure he’s heard his friend say similar things a hundred times — he’s always been _that_ honest. But this time, it almost hurts to hear and he has to stop from clutching his chest.

Because he suddenly _knows_ that unnamed, unknown feeling that’s been creeping up on him all day.

“Matt?”

It takes Shiro’s voice to calm the twist of his lips, but the feeling doesn’t go away, no matter how much he wants to.

“Is there a… a bathroom around here?”

Shiro looks a little worried at the abruptness of the question, the strain in his words making brown eyes wary, and Matt hopes he doesn’t look as pale as he feels sick. If he does, the cadet doesn’t say anything when he hands him the rock, fingers tenderly gliding over it the moment it’s returned. “It’s just down the hall to the left."

“Thanks, I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t think twice about leaving the room; he’ll come back just fine, and he and Shiro will spend all evening until curfew thumbing through the book the older boy borrowed on his bed.

They’ll be happy, they’ll laugh, and then Sam will come and pick him up so they can go back home.

And then, he and his best friend will spend the night on their walkies like they have since he was ten.

But right now, as a blooming pain builds in the center of his chest, he just needs a few minutes to himself…

So he can find a way to breathe again.

His walk down the hallway becomes a running sprint the moment his lungs feel too full to carry their own weight and as he slams the bathroom door open, he’s thankful to find all the stalls empty. Matt locks the door, desperately throwing himself onto the sink’s counter, one hand gripping at his chest as the other turns on the faucet.

Matt feels his ribcage heave and his throat is so clogged, he’s unable to even cough. Shaking fingers scoop running water into his mouth, but the moment he tries swallowing, he begins hurling into the sink painfully — tears forcing themselves from his eyes as all he’s able to do is whine and whimper.

Yellow petals, thin and bright, fall from his tongue by the dozens.

He does his best to work them out, to expel them from his body until there’s nothing left in his lungs but air.

Matt wants to call for Shiro, but he can’t, not like this; he can’t call for _anybody._

It ends as quickly as it began, and when all is said and done, he stares at the pile of flower petals in the sink — filled to the very top — a marvel of an unexplained wonder despite the fact that he’s no stranger to these episodes.  

He still doesn’t understand why his heart hurts, his throat aches, his chest is in terrible pain…

But he’s afraid to tell anyone, afraid to research the topic, this biological anomaly that he doesn’t want a soul to know about.

Because, what if they know how to stop it?

Matt looks on in silence, thinking about the oddly euphoric feelings that come with the hurt. How, despite the agony, he can’t imagine not having the ache. He looks at the leaves, so green, and the blood dotting the petals like paint splatter and all he can think is—

But, he can’t think, not when there’s a knock at the door.

“Matt, are you okay in there?”

Shiro’s voice makes him panic, and he rushes to pick up the flowers in fistfulls, shoving them into the nearest trash can, not satisfied until they’re all gone and have disappeared from sight.

“Matt?” The knocking gets louder, his friend’s voice more worried this time, and he realizes that he never bothered to answer.

“One minute!” Freckled fingers turn the water on again and the Holt splashes away his tears, scrubbing his cheeks with a pullout paper towel. And when he looks at the empty sink and it’s clean of all but wet droplets, he feels more at ease.

_Nothing is wrong._

He’ll walk out and greet Shiro with a grin, probably make fun of the writing he didn’t see in the bathroom stalls, and they’ll go back to the cadet’s room.

They’ll talk.

They’ll laugh.

They’ll read.

And then, he’ll go home.

And Shiro will still be on the other end of the line when he goes to bed tonight.

Tawny eyes gaze at themselves in the mirror for a moment or two, and he adjusts his smudgy, splashed lenses before turning away, staring at the locked door that Shiro is behind. His heart beats loudly as he walks toward it, each step another pump of blood through his veins before he convinces himself that it’s only Shiro.

Calm, cool, smart, _sweet_ Shiro.

Matt holds his head high and opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunflowers - Friendship and Caring.


	3. XV/Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt knows EVERYTHING about Shiro.
> 
> At least... he thinks he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet someone new in this one! It took me longer than anticipated to get this chapter out, but I hope you all think it's worth it. I really like the way it turned out. Also, not sorry about the angst!

_“Tell me - is something wrong?_

_If something’s wrong, you can count on me._

_You know I’ll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat.”_

_\- Two, Sleeping At Last  
_

 

* * *

 

On the eve of Katie’s tenth birthday, Sam finds him coughing up the petals of forget-me-nots.

He’s on the floor of his bedroom, grasping the sheets of his comforter set until the elastic springs cotton constellations from the corner of his mattress. His chest burns and it’s _so hard_ to breathe, but he does his best to keep quiet all the same.

It doesn’t work, because his father had been walking the halls and must have heard him, opening the door curiously before rushing inside — just barely missing the blue flowers scattered on the ground with his shoe. Matt’s embarrassed, fingers bloodied from wiping at his mouth, but he can’t stop for even a moment. There’s no brushing the situation off with a joke and a smile like he’s used to doing — not this time.

Sam knows too much now.

He picks Matt up off the floor, cleans him up and swears never to tell his mother so long as he swears to come to him when the growth gets worse, _if_ it gets worse. When he agrees, his dad leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of experimental medication. Apparently he’s dealt with the disease before, but leaves it at that, and the young Holt is smart enough not to ask questions.

“It’ll help,” he promises, “but take it only when it becomes unbearable, okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt shoves one into his mouth right away, grabbing for one of the dozen water bottles he has standing neatly on his desk so he doesn’t have to leave the room, drinking it down in haste.

“How long?”

“Since the beginning,” he admits without a beat. He doesn’t tell lies, not to Sam.

It’s the only question his dad asks, too — not how, or why, or _who._ Because Matt realizes he already _knows_ the answers. In a way, the boy’s thankful; at least he can avoid having to talk to his father about his giant crush on a guy his entire family knows _very_ well.

But, at the same time, the fact that it’s all so obvious leaves a sour taste in his mouth, like there’s only a matter of time before his secret isn’t a secret anymore. And still, he reels even that thought in; it doesn’t bring a hypothetical relief or lifts a weight from his shoulders to think of the end.

That just helps the flowers grow.

Instead, he focuses on his parents and his sister that night, and even though he knows his mother is aware of the shift in emotion — he can tell from the change in her own behavior — he still pretends nothing happened before the first family dinner they’ve had since he received an acceptance letter to the Galaxy Garrison.

When he and his father leave for the night, they talk about everything other than his disease on the car ride back. And when they part ways at the academy dorms, Sam doesn’t bring it up one last time — he just doesn’t.

Matt sleeps that night only because of that silence.

In the morning, he wakes as if nothing went on the day prior, dressing and washing up quickly, heading out into the halls and to his classes with a renewed vigor. There at school, he doesn’t have to face too much of that thorny reality that bites at him when he’s alone.

He spends the afternoon with his best friend once the bell rings and the man he’s with happens to be both the cause and relief of his worries.

_Shiro._

But it’s okay, he tells himself. Things will be fine so long as he has the medication bottle shoved into the top drawer of his bedside table when things get a little overwhelming. For the time being, he focuses on his work and his dream.

He’s been at the Garrison for a year now and Shiro thinks it’s amazing.

 _Prodigal child,_ he joked, Matt getting in at a younger age than he — but he just believes it’s coincidence and demand for young researchers. Nothing about him is special unless it’s his 4.0, and even that in a place like the Galaxy Garrison isn’t perfectly astonishing. But Shiro thinks it is and he finds himself picking up confidence everyday; he’s always been sure of his brain, but it’s nice to be sure of himself every once in a while, too.

The compliments make him push everything weighing on him out of the way.

“You’re amazing, Matt.” Shiro says from his spot beside him after one of the meetings he gets to sit in on from time to time, “two years to get into this seat and you’re already here.”

Matt shrugs, rallying up the stray documents in front of them on the table and tapping them into a neat stack. “Everyone thinks it’s ‘cause of my dad.”

He hates to admit it, but it doesn’t matter how much effort he puts into his tech, how many robots he builds or formulas he creates — Sam is the one the teachers and students will likely praise.

One day, he’ll prove them all wrong.

But, for now, he’ll tread his father’s shadow and preen at Shiro’s words.

“No way. I know how smart you are, I don’t care what anyone says,” the pilot stands — and he thinks that because that’s what the cadet’s finally become, a _pilot_ — and Matt follows suit. “This was all you.”

He laughs to hide his blush.

“Dork,” Matt snorts, but Shiro just grins anyway, “besides, you’re a pilot, I know for a fact that you’re right at the top of that scoreboard — research seat or not.”

“I’m just glad we’re here together, Matt. Just like we wanted.”

_We._

“...I couldn’t be happier.”

But he’s more than just happy, he finds. Like everything great, though, all the good things stack up like pedestal steps that he follows to the top only to be pushed from the edge and into a pool of so many negative emotions he’d never thought he would have to swim in.

It all ends in loneliness.

But... it begins with jealousy.

Shiro’s older than him, and that’s never mattered before — but now, he’s eighteen and in a league Matt feels like he can’t compete to get into. The other’s become a man, is considered an adult and the young cadet feels small in comparison.

His friends are countless, Shiro’s, with so many names and smiles and hopes and dreams that he soaks in like a sponge. Those bright eyes accompany wide grins that Matt swears had belonged to him at one point.

Now, they belong to everyone else, too.

He doesn’t notice it at first. Months pass by and it’s a kind of bliss that Matt can’t even begin to explain; he and Shiro share the same dream, so being there together means a lot to him, makes him feel like they’re so much closer to becoming...

Something _infinite._

But, eventually, that wonderfully ignorant period of happiness begins to fade — and beneath the bright ink of prodigal pilot posters and star mapping, he realizes that maybe Shiro’s dream includes more than just himself and his best friend. Especially when the moments they get to spend together become fewer.

Matt grabs his walkie talkie from his bedside table as soon as he steps into his room in the nights following, sitting down on his bed as he looks at the time, knowing his friend is at his desk reading or studying. He lifts the device to his lips, a grin on his face as he clicks the button just under his thumb.

“Hey, Shiro, I found this awesome book in that little storage room we found,” he says excitedly, hold on his decorated communicator tightening as he speaks, “I thought we could go through it tonight!”

There’s a long silence, one he expects because as close as they are to each other despite rooms between them, a delay is inevitable. And Matt’s patient as time drags on, only perking up when he hears that telltale static just as he foresaw.

“Sorry, Matt. I have to go. I promised I’d help someone with their homework tonight.”

That _isn’t_ something Matt predicted, however.

He understands, though. Shiro’s a revered pilot, but he’s also one to contest when it comes to grades, so of course he’d be tutoring his classmen. Matt had plenty of nights when he was busy with other students. It’s fine, really.

“Oh, it’s okay! Don’t worry about it, we’ll just do it another night.”

“I’ll hold you to that, okay?”

“You got it!”

Still... it starts happening more and more after that.

Day after day.

Maybe it’s because Shiro’s spoiled Matt with years of his attention, but all of a sudden, he hates that he has to share.

It makes him feel like a loser — more specifically, like he’s _losing_ Shiro. It’s such a bitter feeling that when he sits down the night after, he’s intent on taking back even a little bit of the feeling he used to have when it was just them two.

“Holt to Shirogane, you up for a starwatch? Over!” He’s ecstatic in tone, he knows, but there’s a coil in his gut when he hears Shiro’s voice that sours his mood.

“Hey.”

“Shiro—” Matt clips back quickly in the hopes that he’s milliseconds ahead of whatever plans Shiro might have, maybe he’s quick enough to be the first choice.

“I’m sorry, Matt. I’m really busy right now… can we talk later?”

“Oh,” but it just doesn’t pan out that way, “yeah, man. No problem!”

Communication goes cold after that.

Matt knows it’s not his fault because, really, it’s not that Shiro wants to see him any less, it’s just that he has more people to give his time to. He can grasp the notion, that’s equal — it’s fair — and no matter what the pilot might want to do, he’ll always go for what’s fair.

He’s selfless like that.

And more than likely, it’s probably tutoring or simulation training or hanging out with a group of people too old to want to have to squeeze in an underclassman. He gets it.

It just... sucks.

Matt spends the following weeks as he usually does. Sometimes Shiro can hang out with him, sometimes he can’t; the cadet gets used to it, buries himself in his studies — they announced a mission called ‘Kerberos,’ after all. If Matt wants that research seat in a couple years, he has to hit the books.

And he doesn’t tell Shiro about how lonely he is, or anything about the way he feels. The pilot would only feel guilty about it, and Matt is glad for him despite things. He wants his best friend’s happiness more than anything that isn’t the space above them.

So, he keeps to the texts and the corner desk of his dad’s office more than he probably should. And it’s not until Sam mentions just how much time he spends moping around there that Matt realizes how tired he’s become of working himself so hard.

The older man starts seating himself across from him then, lecturing on about making friends and breaking away from studying to socialize nearly every evening until the cadet finally listens to him.

Because Sam always knows what to say in a way that doesn’t make him feel like he’s being gently pushed away; he needs a shove, and that’s what he gets every time.

 _“A person can’t make you happy, only you can do that,”_ he says one night, shrugging, _“so you shouldn’t rely on them for that feeling.”_

_“Dad—”_

_“You can have more than one friend, Matthew.”_

His father teaches him to spread his wings.

He’s never believed himself a quiet personality, so it surprises him to no end when he finally begins to open up and people wonder where his voice is coming from. Matt Holt, quiet kid genius, becomes the practical jokester — the hysterical guy in the back of the classroom that makes everyone laugh while he solves the professor’s chalkboard conundrum in record time.

Matt meets a girl named Veronica, just a class under him, and they become fast friends. Nothing close, but through her, he meets people. And he may not be a popular star pilot, but he knows a few names and grabs a high-five when he walks down the hall now and then.

He still sits alone at his lunch table, but he doesn’t feel as lonely, and none of his new friends can ever compare to Shiro...

But, he’s finding his way.

His best friend plays a part in that, too. He’s proud of Matt, he can tell, and it just makes those nights when they _can_ hang out so much more special.

Matt’s just fine with that for the while.

For now...

It’s a few months before his sixteenth birthday that he meets Keith.

He’s a year and some change younger, the most sour look that Matt’s ever seen on the guy’s face as he stares up into wide, round glasses. But he stands beside Shiro tall and proud, as if he belongs there, and it intimidates the researcher more than he wants to admit.

That’s… that’s _his_ spot.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he hates Keith immediately because of it.

And then he doesn’t.

The kid’s standing there, looking at Matt like he’s going to jump him, not that he _can_ and — in a way — it’s a little uncomfortable. It’s not terrible, though. It’s not like he’s ever done anything wrong other than be Shiro’s friend, which is not something that’s actually wrong at all because Shiro deserves them.

Matt’s just jealous.

It’s not the person he wants to be, not really, and if Keith’s somebody Shiro trusts enough to introduce, then it’s only right to give him a chance.

_I’ve gotta spread my wings._

He gives them both his family signature, a grin and a half-assed salute before he speaks up. “Hey there, Shiro. Who’ve ya got here?”

But, why does it feel so bad?

His best friend is all sorts of calm but Matt knows him; he’s beaming on the inside, any chance he can use to bring people together is like the man’s own personal elixir of life.

“This is my friend, Keith,” he gestures to the boy beside him, those lips a permanent frown, though he politely regards the young Holt with a nod before scowling at what Shiro says next. “He’s shy.”

The bespectacled cadet doesn’t go in for a handshake like acquaintances do. He takes a step forward and bumps the other’s shoulder with his own, surprising them both. “Big guy probably bullied you into being his pal, huh?”

Keith’s eyes brighten a bit and Matt can see the relief in his expression and the awe in Shiro’s when he says, “barreled his way in like he had the right.”

“Didn’t even ask permission,” Matt sighs.

“H-Hey!”

The two begin walking down the hall, paraded by a crowd of other students, and Shiro follows behind them in half-hearted protest of their ‘conspiracy against upperclassmen.’ He’s happy, they both know it, so Matt decides that it’s worth it — this whole _giving things a shot_ thing.

Matt smiles Keith’s way and the other smiles back.

Maybe it’s not so bad, he thinks, maybe he can try to break out from the shadow he’s buried himself in. And it doesn’t hurt, how Shiro supports him coming together with the people he cares to know. It’s a gift — his introduction to Keith — he just doesn’t know it yet.

They become closer than he expects after that.

Maybe closer than they _both_ thought.

Shiro’s a couple of years ahead of Matt and a good four above Keith, so they’re not always able to hang out with each other. And as the techie has already found out, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to spend time with him on his own as it is. He finds solace in Keith’s presence as they mull the hours more together.

Weeks after their first meeting, he steps over to Matt’s table and takes a seat beside him during their lunch hour — or well, one chair over on the same side, but he’ll take it. And it’s a big surprise for him because before that day, he hadn’t even known that the cadet shared the same recreational period he did.

It’s nice, especially since Shiro doesn’t get to share this time with Matt.

The day of, when he and his best friend are talking over their walkies from their respective dorms, he tells him about it. The older boy’s quiet for a bit before saying that Keith never goes to the cafeteria, at least, not before then.

_“He must really like you.”_

Matt thinks to himself in his bed not of the fact that Keith likes him enough to spend alone time with him, but the list of reasons he’d possibly want to be alone in the first place.

He starts a lot more conversations with the younger boy from then on.

Learning so much about Keith during the hour they sit with each other over the next month is one of the most fulfilling things in the world. He’s a little short on words, only saying what he needs to, but that’s enough for the techie, it is. He finds out all about the loner’s love for cars and hoverbikes, that he’s often by himself because he likes it — and sometimes, he doesn’t, but he’s not a complainer. Keith talks about the little things he finds in the desert when he sneaks out of the dorms, how he calls them knick-knacks and keeps them in his drawer buried in socks so no one finds out during inspection.

It reminds Matt of all the things _he_ loves, all the things his father brought home for him. He and Keith are similar in that way; Matt believes they’ve a lot in common despite their differences.

And they have quite a few.

Keith can be a lot angrier than he is despite how silent he is most days.

One day during a simulation, Matt happens to be taking notes for research purposes in Keith’s piloting hour, and he gets to watch from the Observation Deck as each team steps into the simulator for the challenge. Keith outshines them all, of course. He had expected it and a part of him is proud, especially when he shoots the other a thumbs up and gets a curt nod and a frown back in return.

He’s learned that expression is Keith Talk for _‘yes, Matt, thank you.’_

Not that he’ll admit it.

Matt thinks this will be like every one of his friend’s classes that he’s sat in on — all ending with Keith far above the rest scorewise. But today, the first year cadets that have entered the Garrison are there, too. And there’s a particular team headed by some Cuban boy called McClain that tops Keith’s score.

The shock is apparent and even James Griffin — a cadet that has it out for Keith — breaks his emotionless facade at their victory.

Keith doesn’t show it, even when the boy starts bragging about it in front of him, but Matt can tell that he’s bothered even as he stares ahead — not responding once to the taunts.

All he knows is that, after that moment, Keith never falls from the top again.

Maybe his sudden streak is the reason Shiro’s been sitting in on simulations lately, too. And Matt can’t complain; whatever extra time they get to spend together is great, and they both have a good time cheering their friend on.

Keith’s moodiness fades a little, especially at lunchtime. He’s just a bit more talkative and they spend a lot of time going on about their new accomplishments — and Shiro’s, too. The older man is there even when he’s not. It helps Matt feel close to him and it’s nice to see the effect he has on the others, especially someone as quiet as the pilot-in-training.

And he doesn’t say a word about it, but the fondness Matt sees in Keith when they talk about Shiro hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s a silent revelation, the pique of his understanding, and he just _knows…_

Shiro must have saved Keith, too.

The realization makes him smile one day after exams, but he notices the droop of his friend’s shoulders, and an odd look on his face.

They’re sitting at one of the corner tables in the cafeteria, and it’s weird because instead of sitting beside him like he always does, Keith takes the chair across from him — back facing the rest of the room. And Matt knows just how much he doesn’t care to do that. Across from him, the cadet has to speak a little louder, work a little harder for conversation, and the attention it draws just isn’t for him.

It concerns him to no end.

“What’s the matter, Keith?” Matt’s so innocent in asking the other about his feelings for the first time; it’s what he’d do for Shiro, so he’ll do it for Keith, too. They’re there, at that point where they almost feel important to each other. Maybe he can break some walls, he thinks, it isn’t such a bad thing as long as it helps that determined glow return to sad, violet eyes. “You seem off.”

“Huh?” Keith looks up at Matt searchingly and almost defensively. “Oh, nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he retorts.

Keith gives him a hard stare, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “I swear, it’s nothing.”

Matt takes it for what it is. He knows people take time to open up, friends become closer over weeks and months, not overnight. And he accepts that with every ache in his chest because this is what his father meant, right? Sometimes caring about people means enduring their pain as well as yours, even when they’re suffering silently.

They don’t talk about feelings for a few days. Keith is still mopier than usual and Matt’s still quietly hunting for what’s wrong — but even Shiro doesn’t seem to have noticed anything and he starts to wonder if that’s just the way his new friend _is._ Maybe he’s just the brooding type, he’s seen it before, Griffin from Keith’s class is the exact same way.

But… he doesn’t like it, not when their first lunch together had been such lively talk about piloting and technology and space.

It doesn’t make sense that it’s all silent now.

It’s why a week later, as they’re having traded jello cups and still sitting across from each other again that he speaks up about it with only the best of intentions in his heart.

“Hey,” he begins slowly, catching Keith’s attention, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”

The look he gets is full of suspicion with a touch of _‘aren’t we over this?’_ But Matt knows he isn’t — neither of them are — even if it’s for a different reason. And he doesn’t miss the way Keith sets down his cup and spoon with a frown, walls closing as though they were open in the first place. “...Right.”

“So, if you wanna tell me about what’s been bothering you—”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“There has to be! You’re acting so different, and like…” He can’t help but confuse what he wants to say in his mind, so he swiftly changes approach. “Have you spoken to Shiro about whatever it is?”

Keith scoffs, “I don’t have to talk to Shiro about anything.”

“I mean, you should. If you won’t talk to me about what’s wrong, you should at least tell him. He can help.” Because Shiro _always_ helps, unless... “Is it _about_ Shiro?”

“It isn’t.”

Matt gives him a long look before he sits up in his chair, snapping his fingers. “Did that pilot beat your score again?”

“It’s nothing!”

The yell shuts Matt up and he shrinks back a little, suddenly aware of the fact that he should back off. Keith’s face is too calm for his abrupt outburst and it makes him think that, if he just drops the subject, they can go back to normal. So, he does.

The tech learns then that sometimes that doesn’t work when Keith slams his hands on the table, making him jump, the other rising and storming away without so much as looking back.

It’s the single pink bulb on the counter surrounded by prickly pines left in his wake that makes Matt understand him completely.

He collects the flower and heads back to his room, spending the whole night staring at it, turning it in his fingers in search of answers.

_Who is it he loves? Is Keith in pain like he is? When did it start?_

The answer is right in front of him during the days following, watching violets trail over dark skin and the brightest blue eyes they’ve both ever seen despite the fact that their owner is fighting for top rank against Keith. He’s got smiles for days and Matt can see why the cadet would like him. But he knows it runs deeper than any crush just by speculation, and that’s what frightens him more than anything.

 _“Death is the consequence if you keep your feelings quiet, of course.”_ His dad explained it to him with the most grievous tone, as if he was urging Matt to confess, and now - he wants to tell Keith the same thing.

But he’s afraid that if he does, he’ll lose him. And Keith may be a new addition to his life, but he doesn’t want to take any chances when he’s already so attached.

As his friend, he doesn’t want him to go through his same sickness either, however, but he’s the last person who would ever bother to admit his feelings to anyone on his own. So, Matt unwisely takes things into his own hands; he’ll just have to play matchmaker to save him, to save Keith from his bane.

He never thought it would change him so much.

Matt learns the ins and outs of flirting _for_ Keith. If he can learn how to charm someone, maybe he can better serve him by figuring out the best way for the other to approach this Lance McClain. He could tip the cadet off, scheme a bit until he was able to confess.

It becomes a part of him more than it actually helps, though.

He enjoys this outgoing, flirtatious side of himself — it makes people laugh, it charms a lot of his classmates and if he’s lucky, he’ll even make Shiro go a little red at the ears. It’s fun, easier than he thought it would be, and he quickly becomes known for the quirks he develops.

In the end, though, it doesn’t do anything for Keith because he doesn’t bother taking the advice, but Matt blooms a little more each day with his shinier personality.

So, maybe it wasn’t such a useless ploy.

He starts using his charm to help himself instead.

It isn’t at all a part of his plans, but here and there, he gives Shiro a little more of that charming Matt Holt he’s done his absolute best to create. Every night, for a while it seems, he opens up to Shiro in a different way.

_“Hey, hot stuff.”_

_“_ **_Matt._ ** _”_

It works to his advantage. He gets to have a little bit of intimacy with Shiro without outright revealing a thing, and though he coughs up petals with every conversation’s end, he’s grateful to have it — even if it means nothing to the other in the end.

Shiro thinks it great — fresh, new, hysterical — and he plays along nearly every night, laughing at not thinking anything of it. In a way, it reminds him of when they were young, throwing back puns and jokes like they haven’t heard them a thousand times. He revels in it, it’s been so long, and it just feels good again — like Matt’s change is bringing the pilot closer. Sharing almost all of the words he speaks in a day with Shiro feels right. And all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel like there’s enough time apart for even deep, dark secrets anymore.

He finds out that Shiro has even more depth than he appears to, however.

Matt doesn’t see him for days on end sometime after their last conversation — talks over their walkies tapering to none once more — and, at first, he just thinks he must be busy with classes or mentoring the cadets.

But there’s talk.

Listening in on all of the rumors, he can gather that Shiro hasn’t been around anywhere at all; it’s alarming, punctual and perfect Takashi Shirogane, disappearing off the face of the planet without so much as a polite warning.

He talks to his dad about it after he starts to find it too unsettling, and Sam is as sympathetic as always, but he doesn’t really help ease Matt’s worry. There’s a show of concern on his end that winds down into a polite dismissal, and it bothers the cadet to no end, like he’s not being told everything his father might know.

When he tells Keith about it at lunch one day, the _lack_ of feeling the other shows and his silence is too suspicious to ignore.

Are people hiding things from him?

It spurs him to find out for himself.

“Matthew?”

He shows up to the Shirogane Residence for the first time in his life after practically begging Keith for the address. It’s a beautiful home on the outside, two stories and surrounded by gardens that are probably upkept once a week; if this were any other day, he’d be so excited, more than happy to be exploring Shiro’s home with him. But he doesn’t feel very good about being there at all. There’s a burning in his stomach that might as well be the sign of a bad omen.

“Mr. Shirogane, can I see Shiro?” The words are out of his mouth faster than what can be called polite, Matt’s other father in all but blood putting on a startled face at the rashness of them. It’s the first time he’s ever seen anything but a stony expression, but it doesn’t matter because he kindly moves out of the way, letting the cadet step into the house.

“How did you know to come here, Matthew?” He speaks carefully, without upset — genuinely curious.

Matt frowns, “Keith.”

“I see,” the older man closes the door, nodding. “his room is the second to the left, upstairs.”

A long moment passes and Matt smiles meekly his way. “Thanks.”

He runs up the stairs like his life depends on it after that.

The techie finds the room easily, quickly, passing by family photos and displayed artifacts he’d usually stop and stare at. There’s no time for that, though — none at all — because until he finds out why Shiro’s gone AWOL, he can’t be okay enough to pause and admire what he’s wanted to see for so long.

He can feel the vines in the back of his throat and pushes them back.

Busting into the room without so much as a knock, he catches sight of the person he’s looking for hunched over his bedside table and he’s so relieved, he could probably cry.

“Shiro!”

“ _Matt?_ ” A gasping breath follows. “What are you doing here?”

The surprise hurts a little, but he doesn’t think about that. When Shiro stands tall, a square machine resting on the table and plugged into the wall catches his attention. It’s beeping an ominous, sick sound he’s only heard on the day they had to bring Pidge to the hospital for her first broken bone.

This is different.

Instead of just existing with the stench of antiseptic floating around, it’s in Shiro’s room, active. The line pumps on and off, making loud clicking noises here and there. And when Matt follows the tube with his eyes, he finds it connected to his best friend’s head, fitted inside of his nose until the pilot begins to remove it — looking at him from beneath his lashes when he faces a draw of silence.

The machine dies into a whirring hum before it shuts down completely.

“What’s that machine?” Matt asks worriedly, taking in a gulp of air when he realizes he hasn’t been breathing. Part of him knows the answer, but it’s like his knowledge of anything vanished from his memory. “Shiro?”

“It’s nothing.”

Matt tries not to feel so offended, but he is. “Why is everyone telling me it’s _nothing?_ I’m not stupid, I can see that it isn’t nothing!”

Shiro ignores him, “why are you here?”

So, he returns the favor, “what _is_ it?”

The pilot’s head snaps up from his downcast glare, Matt’s tone of voice is harsher than he means for it to be; Shiro knows that it’s because he’s been worried, because his father and Keith had acted like his absence was no big deal, because out of everyone his best friend knows —

Matt will always be the one who misses him when he’s not there, even for a second.

“It’s a ventilator... Sometimes I need it,” he finally relents, setting down the tubes he pulled from his body before straightening his posture and it’s as if he’s just stepped out of a successful simulation, top score on the screen, “to help me with my condition.”

“Condition?”

“I’m _sick,_ Matt.”

The admittance is something he expects, all of the clues point right to it, but nothing makes it more real than Shiro saying so himself. All the pain he feels then is so hard to take, how it wraps around his chest like a vice, coiled tighter than any of the thorns around his lungs.

“Sick?” He can’t even say the word without feeling nauseous. “Is it the same?”

 _As_ **_her_** _,_ he wants to add, but Shiro already gets what he means.

He’s always been able to read him so clearly and he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“Yes.”

Matt braces himself against a desk littered with textbooks and loose leaf, concentrating on neat script on paper, not wanting to look up at the other. He’s shaken and he knows enough about the late Mrs. Shirogane to understand how the illness steals from everyone and everything. And no matter how much he wants to say something, maybe comfort Shiro after what he’s learned, he can’t find the words.

He’d much rather deal with the flowers.

“I’m so busy at the Garrison that I can’t get away.” Shiro doesn’t come closer even though he can see Matt’s suffering, so he settles for explaining himself, making up for all the times he didn’t bother. “Sometimes I have to come back home and recuperate when Keith can’t run things over to me.”

“Keith?” Matt lets his distress take over then. “Your dad is one thing, he’s your dad, but _Keith?_ ”

When he lifts his eyes, it’s to a broken expression, “Matt.”

“Why does _Keith_ get to know?” Matt can feel himself blink rapidly, as if he knows that tears will come if he doesn’t prepare himself now. “Why didn’t _I_ get to know?”

He hates the way his voice cracks, and maybe Shiro does too, if the look on his face is a warning sign. The other swallows hard, looking straight at him.

Or, maybe _through_ him is a better way to describe it.

“I knew it would hurt you the most.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say to that because it’s true - everything he cares about is in Shiro, always has been. Besides his parents and sister, his best friend is everything he has. The fact that he’s sick and hurting, even now, burns behind his eyes and tears at his chest.

What scares him most is how Shiro _knows_ it, knows him so well that he can foretell, his pain at even the thought of him being ill.

“I’m your best friend.” He reaches up to hold his chest, “I could have… my dad—”

“He’s been working on some medicine for me. He and my father.” Matt’s eyes widen as his jaw goes slack and Shiro turns away in shame. He feels betrayed by the words because besides the man before him, he’s always put every ounce of faith he’s ever had in his father, and for him to keep a secret like this... “But, Matt, they don’t _need_ to. I can’t get better from this, I never will.”

“My _dad_ knew…” Even though he accepts the truth, he still shakes his head in disbelief, lips quivering as Shiro finally steps toward him. All this time he believed he knew everything about the other falls away with the fact that everyone else knew so much more. And no matter how angry Matt is, the hand that places itself on his shoulder melts the ice into tears like summer sunlight. “Does this,” he sobs dryly between breaths, “does this mean you’re going to die one day?”

“We’re all going to d—”

“Like your _mom?!_ ”

Shiro sucks in a breath and Matt immediately regrets his words.

So many emotions flit across his best friend’s face - anger, sadness, defeat - and for a moment, Matt can see clearly the tiredness in his eyes like he’s gone days without rest. The hand on his shoulder tightens and loosens its grip and he’s afraid to do anything, scared that Shiro will run away where he can’t find him like the days after his mother passed.

He’s surprised when he’s pulled forward instead, arms wrapping so tightly around him that it’s near impossible to breathe. Shiro presses his face into his neck and the closeness only begs more tears from Matt’s eyes.

It’s like having something that’s already gone away.

But… he holds onto it like it’s all that’s left.

“Yes,” Shiro whispers, his voice small, fragile, “I’m sorry.”

Matt chokes on a pained sob, reaching around the other’s back and silently pleading for Shiro’s life with everything he has, but he knows - Shiro knows - that it’s not that simple.

He hasn’t cried so openly since he was a kid, but there in the man’s arms, he doesn’t think he can stop if he wanted to.

“I should be the one saying sorry.”

The flowers in his breath haunt him for weeks after that.

But he forgives Shiro easily, he always has.

And he realizes, overwhelmingly, that he has something to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget-Me-Nots - True Love, Fond Memories.  
> Heather - Loneliness.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr. I'm [birdsandivory](http://birdsandivory.tumblr.com).


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